


Never Let Me Go

by PhoenixTalon



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Reunion, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-16
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixTalon/pseuds/PhoenixTalon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Gold finds Belle wandering about in the rain one night. 3 parter. MATURE, just your basic reunion smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The rain didn’t bother Belle. Likely it should’ve. It was no spring rain but an autumn deluge, combined with sharp winds. It was twilight—the people of Storybrooke had retreated indoors to escape the weather so the streets were completely empty. Belle stood in the rain letting the cold water soak her institution-given clothes. It streamed across her face until she couldn’t distinguish her tears and the rain. It tasted cold and real.

It was such a relief to feel something from the natural world, however unpleasant. Belle savored this moment as the rain drenched her. Not for long, though. If the Queen were to see her…she’d be locked up again.

Belle began to walk. She wasn’t entirely sure where to go. Her time in Storybrooke was limited to a padded room. The streets, though picturesque, were unfamiliar and foreign. Everything seemed hazy—the odd noises outside her cell, the unlocked door, the sleeping nurses and residents. Something magical had been afoot, Belle was certain of it. Doors didn’t open on their own. Guards did not fall asleep all at the same time. For all she knew, it was a giant trick of Regina’s.

All magic has a price.

She didn’t care. Anything was better than being locked away in that wretched room.

She took a deep breath. In her mind, she began to chant the mantra that helped her regain focus when it felt like her world was falling apart.

I remember. I remember. I remember everything. I remember.

She could feel the Curse wriggling in her mind. She could feel it trying to supply images, memories, thoughts about a life in Storybrooke. They were lies. She knew this for certain. She would not accept them.

It was why she’d been locked up. Belle didn’t know why she was able to resist the Curse but she didn’t question it either. The only thing that mattered was escaping Regina’s grasp.

And of course…finding him.

XXXXXX

Mr. Gold liked foggy, cold, dark days. The miserable weather agreed with him in a peculiar way. There was a certain charm to dreariness. Still, he hadn’t had many customers today and intended on closing early. No point in wasting money—no one was about anyway. He carefully locked the register drawer, pocketing the key and headed towards the door.

He paused. His bad leg had begun to ache, a sure sign that magic ruled the night. He frowned. Perhaps Regina was up to some kind of mischief. Trying to brush off his uneasiness, he pulled a black umbrella from the umbrella stand next to the door. He opened it, stepping out into the rainy twilight. It had begun to pour violently, drowning out every other sound. It was a pity the downpour didn’t include a thunderstorm—he would’ve enjoyed watching the lightning as he walked home. Mr. Gold respected displays of power.

He had just finished locking the door behind him when an eerie feeling that he was being watched flooded him. He turned swiftly.

He squinted. A figure of a girl stood a little ways away, staring directly at him. She had no coat, no umbrella—not even shoes. What on earth was a young girl wandering about in this weather?

His fingers twitched around his cane. There was something familiar about that girl.

She’d begun to walk towards him. He half-wondered if he should retreat into his shop, perhaps call someone or at least have his pistol in eyesight.

“What do you—” He started to say but froze. She was now in front of him. His cane fell to the floor.

Belle. Bedraggled, wet, frenzied, looking half-mad—like a hunted rabbit. She looked half-drowned as she shivered in the rain. A haunting hollowness lay in her eyes, an older maturity that he never saw during their time together.

But it was Belle.

A choking noise escaped his mouth. Memories surged through him. Forming the deal with her, catching her when she fell, offering the enchanted rose, her sweet lips on his, his rejection and demand for her to leave…

“You—you look different,” She said in a raspy voice before collapsing.


	2. It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn

Preparing tea was an insanely, ridiculously normal activity at such a time, but it’s all Mr. Gold could think of doing. He’d caught her, before she hit her head, but with his limp, he couldn’t very well carry her to his house. The best he could manage was to drag her into the shop and gently lay her on an old antique couch. Her clothes had been completely soaked in the rain so he’d wrapped an expensive old-fashioned quilt about her, patting her dry as much as he could. Then he’d gone to the back room, to make tea.

His hands shook, rattling the china. The teapot whistled on the small gas stove, and Mr. Gold mechanically added tea bags, deeply inhaling the steam, hoping to clear his senses. Belle was here—Belle was here, unconscious, but alive. He’d always prided himself on never losing control, never letting his temper get the best of him—not like Regina. His cool composure was his best weapon against her. But he was shaken to his core. 

It was a trick. It had to be a trick. What else could it be? But even if it was, what could he do? Leave Belle—his Belle—out in the rain, alone and unprotected? 

While pouring the tea, he heard a noise, not unlike the cooing of a dove. She was waking up. He went to her, setting the tray on an ottoman. Her eyes remained fixed on his face, continuing to unnerve him.

“Are you all right?” He asked in an guarded voice. He didn’t know how the Curse affected her—who she was in Storybrooke.

“Yes,” She said slowly, accepting his proffered cup. “I’m sorry I fainted—very cliché of me.” She took a sip of tea, grimaced a little at the bitterness, and proceeded to add a plentiful amount of cream and sugar. Mr. Gold watched, captivated and relieved. Belle had loved milky, sugary tea. No matter how the curse affected her, it was still Belle. His Belle. His heart ached at this.

She gave a half-smile as she stirred her drink. “I’ll try not to break this one,” She raised her cup almost sardonically. Mr. Gold gripped his cane.

“What do you mean,” He said urgently. 

Back then,” She clarified. “In our real lives. When I made the deal with you, to be your caretaker. I chipped a cup. Do you remember?”

He stared at her. “You…remember me then,” His voice came out rough and gravelly. 

She looked at her drink, watching the creamy liquid swirl. The familiar smell was comforting as well as grounding. “Yes. I remember…everything."

Mr. Gold sank into a black leather chair, feeling dizzy. His fingers raked through his hair agitatedly as he tried to make sense of what was happening. His instincts were screaming that all of it was a trick, a terrible mistake.

“How is that possible,” He murmured in wonder. Belle glanced up at him.

“I don’t know,” She admitted. “My time in this Cursed town…has been limited to the asylum. I’ve seen nothing else—although the evil queen visited me occasionally.”

“Asylum?!” Mr. Gold said sharply. This explained her pale blue hospital pajamas and why she didn’t seem to have anything on her. He bared his teeth. Regina would pay for this. Although a man of subtlety and methodical manipulation, the idea of storming to Regina’s house and tearing her limb from limb was becoming vastly appealing.

“I think,” Belle said carefully, idly picking up sugar cube from the tray and crumbling it between her fingers, “That I was locked up because I remember. I don’t think—I don’t think good things happen to people who remember and resist the curse.”

Mr. Gold’s mind briefly flashed on Graham’s death. 

“Does it not affect you at all?” He wanted to know. This was of the utmost importance.

Belle shook her head. “I feel it…it’s like blocking out bad thoughts. If I’m not paying attention, it creeps in, trying to get me to agree with what it’s saying. But—somehow—I know it’s false. It’s not the truth.” Her brow furrowed. “How is it you remember?”

Mr. Gold sucked in his breath. “I didn’t…not at first. But—I made a deal with Regina, all those years ago. And back then, I had a plan in mind to counter Regina stealing my memories.”

Belle leaned in intrigued. “What plan?”

He smiled darkly at the vibrant curiosity in her eyes. “Every story needs a memorable detail. And I kept each of those details, here, in this shop,” He gestured around him vaguely. Belle let the setting sink in, seeing a golden lamp, a set of glass slippers, a seashell comb. “After a while…it came back to me.”

She smiled too and Mr. Gold felt as though something within him was unlocking. It was a strange mixture of peace and unadulterated joy, two things that had been denied to him for as long as he could remember. He watched her sparkling eyes soften towards him as she took another deep drink of her tea.

“Ah Belle,” The words came spilling out before he could stop them. “I missed you so much…”

Pain flitted across her features. “I—I did too…when I left—I traveled, for a very long time. A lot happened to me then. But I always hoped…I always hoped you’d come find me.” The stark honesty in Belle’s voice pierced his heart painfully as guilt and regret swarmed around him.

“I thought you were dead,” He hissed, his eyes closing to ward off the emotions. “I thought—I thought you were gone. Forever.”

There was a creak and Mr. Gold’s eyes opened at the noise. Belle was in front of his chair, looking at him with a thrilling tenderness. She took his hand, squeezing it in a moment of calm familiarity and intimacy. Her eyes were filled with warmth and promise. She touched his cheek, sending jolts of electricity through his veins. There was an unspoken question in her expression and Mr. Gold tried to stave it off. She inclined her head towards his, her soft palm still caressing his cheek. He wanted so badly to kiss her with all the ardor he could muster—but fear got the best of him. He turned away from her.

“What?” She asked in a husky voice.

“No,” He said, keeping his eyes fixed to the floor. He heard her inhale sharply.

“Now, listen,” She said resolutely. “No one decides my fate but me."

Mr. Gold started. He looked toward her, as the shared memory passed between them. She knelt before his chair. 

“No one,” She repeated. “But me.”

His fingers trembled as he reached towards her, gently tracing the outline of her face. She closed her eyes at the sensation, anticipatory pleasure beginning to flutter in her stomach.

“I just can’t believe,” Mr. Gold murmured, his fingers continuing their sensitive path. “That you’re actually here.”

She took his hand, halting his motion. “I’m here,” She breathed. She leaned towards him, just as she did a lifetime ago. His eyes were fixed upon hers; he seemed paralyzed as she gently pressed her lips to his.

Her lips were warm and inviting. Mr. Gold resisted kissing her back with all of his might. It wasn’t right—she didn’t know what she was doing, she was confused, she was a child…

She drew herself away, just barely. “Kiss me,” She whispered.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” He whispered back.

“Rumplestiltskin,” Belle said firmly. “Kiss me back. Now.” Without waiting for an answer, she kissed hard, unwilling to take no for an answer. She’d had enough of playing the victim.


	3. Love is Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For theshelbyparadox's prompt, 'unrequited love gone right'. Smut warning.

All right. She won.

Mr. Gold had had enough of trying to play the hero. Gods, he was no prince charming, why on earth was he trying to be one? He supposed it was a testament to Belle’s character that made him want to be better for her—but in all honesty, he wasn’t going to deny who he was any longer. Not after all the pain and regret they’d both suffered. Not after all the time they’d lost.

With that in mind, he deepened the kiss, running his tongue along her lower lip. He pulled her willing form onto his lap. He felt her smile against his mouth and her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers entwining themselves in his hair. Her touch was like electricity, shooting down his neck. Slowly and languidly, his fingers began to trail down the expanse of her back. He felt her shiver at his actions.

She opened her mouth to his and their kiss intensified. Gods, she tasted good, sweet and fresh, bringing to mind spring rain and the smell of a storm. She kissed him almost clumsily, her sweet, small lips awkwardly trying to match his. Her inexperience was strangely arousing. He pressed her closer to his chest, exploring her mouth in an easy, leisurely way. She let out a little half moan, half sigh of contentment, running her fingers through his hair. 

He broke away from her, just for a moment, to stare into her eyes, to remind himself that this wasn’t a dream. How many times had nightmares of her assailed him, blaming him, accusing him—but no. She was here in his arms, wanting him, forgiving him.   
Belle refused to waste this pause, choosing to graze her lips against his jaw-line and explore the sensitive areas of his neck. She nipped him lightly, just below his left ear. His breathing became shallower—she began to feel the proof of his own desire under her. 

She wanted this. She readjusted herself so she was straddling him, placing her knees on either side of his hips. He hissed sharply the change in friction, causing her to give an almost wicked smile. She returned to his mouth, capturing him hotly, eager to take this further. Her fingers loosened his tie, finding the buttons of his shirt and she fumbled with them desperately. 

At this, Mr. Gold, in a display of admirable self-restraint, stopped her for a moment. He cupped her face tenderly, touching his forehead to hers. The tenderness of this gesture made her heart melt. 

“Belle,” He said in a voice barely above a whisper. “You just got back—you’re not thinking—”

“You’re thinking too much,” Belle said softly. “Now that I’ve found you, I’m not letting you go again, Rumplestiltskin. Not ever again.” There was a sharp spark of defiance in her blue eyes that made him want her all the more.

“As you wish, dearie,” He breathed and his lips collided with hers in a heat of passion and urgency. After taking the lead, Belle now found herself trying to match the pace of his tongue, to keep up with his hands running up and down the length of her, around the curve of her ass, cupping her breast, each motion too quick for her to keep up with. In her hazy state, she’d somehow managed to throw off his suit coat and unbutton his shirt. 

He was teasing her, his hands sliding under her shirt, just barely touching the underside of her breast before shying away. She felt him chuckle low in his throat when she tried to detain his hands and place them against her breasts. Impatiently, she straightened, pulling off her shirt, hoping this action would encourage him. She returned to his mouth hurriedly, falling in love with the sound of his groan when she leaned back into him, slightly wriggling on his lap as she did so. Belle was suddenly grateful for her thin cotton pants—they would be easier to get off.

He paused their kiss, impatiently unclasping her bra, slipping the offending garment off of her. He took one breast into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue, hardening it into a nub. Belle moaned softly, arching her back, desperate to give him as much access as possible. His hands slowly came between her thighs, slipping under the waistband of her pants, stroking, teasing, maneuvering in and out her underwear. This was nearly too much—the sensation of his fingers making lazy circles just there, her damp underwear now an irritating barrier. She nearly bucked off of him, rocking against his fingers, as waves of pleasure built inside her. 

Belle could barely take it anymore. Wet heat had begun to pool against her thighs, and his damned, wonderful fingers had retreated just as she was on the cusp. Desire had risen like a volcano; she was ready to explode and she wanted her love to explode with her. Thankfully, Mr. Gold was not far behind her, sliding her pants and underwear down her legs, kissing her collarbone ravenously. She rubbed herself against him, hard and solid, and made the quick decision to hurry things along, unzipping his pants.

Good gods, had the woman always been this brazen? Mr. Gold dazedly thought. From the get-go, he’d tried to play the gentleman, tried to keep it slow and tender, yet she insisted on rushing, hurrying, fighting for control in the most intoxicating way. The thought occurred to him that it was Belle who first initiated True Love’s kiss—the kiss that nearly tore them apart. It also came to mind that Belle seemed to have a wonderfully irritating habit of throwing him off his guard. A man always three steps ahead of the game, it had always been Belle who’d seen through his charade and seemed to gain enjoyment out of surprising him. 

“Ah, love,” He exhaled noisily, and she playfully bit his earlobe. It didn’t matter what came next. She was here now, and just as she’d vowed, he too, was never, ever, letting her go again. 

She let out a little gasp of pain when she finally sheathed herself upon him. For all of her forwardness, she was still inexperienced and young—so much younger than he was. At her wince of pain, he kissed her softly, stroking the sensitive bits of her lower back. He grit his teeth against her exquisite tightness, wet and hot around him, allowing her to set the rhythm.

The pain receded quickly, but Belle had barely paid attention to it anyway. Her blue eyes were focused on his dark ones. She wished he’d look at her like that forever, a strange mixture of tenderness and fierce desire reflected in his brown eyes. She kissed him back sweetly, her fingers tracing down his chest. 

“Are you all right?” His voice was a ragged whisper. Her heart warmed and she nodded, kissing him again. She began to rock gently, almost tentatively, adjusting herself to having him inside her, gasping when she felt the flutters of pleasure inside her, promising there was more to come. Mr. Gold’s head rocked back as he growled in pleasure, his fingers gripping around her ass. Encouraged, she quickened her rhythm; her back arching as hot electric need began to swarm her. 

Belle began to ride him harder, her breath becoming shallow and erratic, the more she sank into him. As her pace became more forceful and confident, he’d started to say her name, whispering and groaning it. His right hand wandered between them, gently stroking her swollen clit in time with her motions. He was barely keeping control, he couldn’t last much longer, but he was determined she should find pleasure first. She moaned hotly, fingers digging into his shoulders, and then she fell apart.

She cried out, her cry reverberating around the room, and he felt her walls contract around him. Her eyes screwed shut, she shook like a leaf before the fall, completely lost in the heated sensations consuming her. 

“Belle,” He whispered hoarsely. “Look at me.”

Her blue eyes opened. She wrenched against him and it was too much for him; he came quickly after her, choking out her name, burying his groan in her sweat-soaked shoulder.

Exhausted, Belle collapsed against him; gently, he adjusted her so she sat on his lap. His arms curled around her and he inhaled deeply. Her hair smelled like sun-soaked straw, a familiar, lovely scent. She lifted a small, shaking hand to lightly touch his face. 

Their foreheads touched. 

She wanted to say she loved him but she feared tensing the moment. So she kissed him sweetly, wishing deep in her heart, Never let me go.


End file.
